HIS FIRST QUEEN

Chapter 17 [Nayantara]

As we moved into Indravathi, I could feel the wind, the birds and the trees welcoming me. It felt so good to be free after so many days. My brother had been my saviour, the one person who had seen through the hidden message that I had sent and understood the depths of my despair. He had risked everything to bring me back to Indravathi, to the safety of our family.

"Tara," he said, his voice low but filled with the authority that had always been his hallmark. "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

I met his gaze, seeing the concern in his eyes. Nishant, my brother, had always been my protector, my confidant. This time, I was not just his sister returning home; I was a queen, a mother-to-be, fleeing from a husband who had become a stranger.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready for what's to come."

Bhratashree reached over, placing a hand on mine. "You don't have to face this alone, Tara. You're home now. Father will protect you, and so will I. No one will hurt you here."

I wanted to believe him, to let his words wrap around me like a protective cloak. But deep down, I knew the truth. I was safe for now, yes, but Anshuman was not a man who would let go of me. He would come for me-of that, I was certain. And when he did, it would not be with open arms, but with the full force of his will, with the fury of a man scorned.

As we passed through the gates, the familiar sights and sounds of the palace grounds flooded back to me. The courtyard was bustling with activity, servants and guards moving with purpose, their faces reflecting the day's labour. The palace itself stood tall and imposing, its marble walls glowing in the fading light, a symbol of the strength and power of my lineage.

But as I dismounted from my horse, a wave of exhaustion washed over me, the weight of the past weeks pressing down on my shoulders. I wanted nothing more than to retreat to my old chambers, to lose myself in the comfort of familiarity. But I knew that was not an option. There were too many questions and too many uncertainties that needed to be addressed.

"Tara!" My father's voice boomed across the courtyard as he strode toward me, his face a mix of relief and concern. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and strong, with the bearing of a ruler who had seen much in his lifetime. His embrace was warm, enveloping me in the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of the hunt.

"Pitashree," I murmured, burying my face in his shoulder, feeling the tears that I had been holding back finally spill over. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled back, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine with a tenderness that broke my heart. "There is nothing to be sorry for, my child. You are home, and that is all that matters. We will deal with the rest in time."

I nodded, trying to compose myself. The others dismounted and made their way toward us. My father gestured for the servants to take the horses and led me inside, his arm around my shoulders.

As we entered the grand hall, memories of my childhood flooded back-playing hide and seek among the columns, sneaking into the kitchens for sweet treats, and sitting in my father's lap as he told stories of battles and heroes. This was the place where I had grown up, where I had dreamed of love and adventure, where I had imagined a future filled with hope. But now, those dreams felt distant, like the echoes of a song that had long since faded.

"Rest now, Tara," my father said, guiding me toward the staircase that led to my old chambers. "We will speak more in the morning. There is much to discuss, but for tonight, I want you to rest and know that you are safe."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding, and allowed the servants to lead me up the stairs. The familiar corridors felt strange, as if I were a guest in my own home. But as I entered my chambers, the memories came rushing back-the tapestries on the walls, the soft cushions on the window seat where I had spent countless hours reading, and the bed with its canopy of silk.